


Jealousy

by theLiterator



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bonding, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gen, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Hal/Bruce - Jealousy" on tumblr.</p><p>Hal meets Damian Wayne and then they have ice cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

So the kid-- the kid had been built up in his head as this shadowy creature of legend who’d as soon kill you as look at you, and Hal was honestly expecting someone… bigger. Not that the kid was tiny-tiny, he seemed like he was about right for a ten-year-old, but that he was. Well.

A kid.

“Yo,” Hal said casually, waving off a salute as he raced for Bruce’s study; he was running late and Bruce got all _pinched_ whenever he was.

“Hal,” Bruce said, and, oh yeah, he was pinched and taut and Hal grinned at him, already picturing ways to un-pinch him.

“Met the kid,” Hal said.

“What did he do,” Bruce asked, and there was a pained resignation to his tone that set Hal back slightly. He frowned.

“Uh, well, he was walking down the hall, and I said hi?” Hal offered.

“I’ve told him no swords-- hang on, he _will_ apologize--” Bruce reached for his phone.

“What? There were no swords, stop it. I’m confused.” Hal grabbed Bruce's wrist to stop him and almost overbalanced over onto the desk.

“Oh, you met Tim then?” Bruce asked, rubbing his temples. Hal walked around the desk to stand behind him and when he rested his fingers against Bruce’s trapeziums, he wondered if the man had stock in a local massage parlor because he definitely needed it.

“No-o,” Hal said slowly, rubbing lightly at Bruce’s neck to warm up the skin before bringing in the big guns. “I know Tim-- Red Robin, right? Definitely too young to be Tim.”

“And he didn’t threaten to stab you,” Bruce said. Hal dug his thumbs in right where Bruce’s muscle hit bone, and Bruce dropped forward with a groan.

“No? He’s like… he’s _ten_ , Bruce. I said hi, he gave me the trademarked Wayne Suspicious Stare, and then I came in here.”

“So he _actually_ stabbed you,” Bruce asked the desk. Hal ignored that, because _really_? and continued to work on Bruce’s shoulders.

***

Still, it bugged him. The kid could _not_ be nearly as bad as everyone seemed to think, because, well. Hal hadn’t been stabbed to within an inch of his life while Damian stood there smirking and licking blood off of his hands, and it turned out that everyone just… assumed he did that.

So maybe, maybe Hal started coming around to Wayne Manor more often, and maybe Bruce seemed smugly pleased about that, and maybe Hal didn’t tell a soul that it was actually because he wanted to see the kid’s true colors.

Except--

Except the kid’s main flaw seemed to be that he was entirely Bruce’s son, and took everything too-seriously and tended to flinch away from perceived attacks and eyed everyone with grave suspicion, which of course didn’t faze Hal in the slightest-- he was, after all, dating Batman.

“Father isn’t here,” Damian said, appearing directly in front of Hal and staring challengingly up at him.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Hal said, caught out. “Well, I’ll just be going. I didn’t have anything I needed, particularly.”

“Oh,” the kid said, and he was just… standing there. Staring. There was suddenly this expectant air in the hallway, and Hal wondered what cue he’d missed, there, and he shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortable.

“Aren’t the Knights playing today?” he asked, and the kid jerked as if Hal’d insulted his mother.

“I don’t know,” Damian said carefully. He inched forward slightly. “Pennyworth will.”

“We should ask him; your dad’s got those luxury boxes, and I’ve got a couple-thirty hours before I’m due back in space. Could be fun.” Hal tried to smile winningly, but Damian just kept giving him that piercing, unreadable look. It was like back when he'd first decided he was going to find Batman's good graces and somehow get into them. That was okay though; it just meant he had practice at this.

Alfred appeared then, summoned by magic, and the Knights were, in fact playing, and they had an hour before the game which was, according to Alfred, perfect timing, and Master Damian should go change into something appropriate, here, Alfred would help him select something.

Hal stood in the hallway and wondered if laughing hysterically was an appropriate response, or if Bruce would watch the tapes of this later and mock him for _years_ for his inability to have a normal conversation with a ten-year-old kid.

Not that Bruce was really one to judge, there.

When they got into the car, (“The Bentley, I think, Pennyworth,” had been demanded in snobbish tones with a little unsure glance at Alfred, who was fighting hard not to smile,) Damian stared at him silently for six minutes, and then, as the clock in the dash ticked over to minute seven, he sighed and settled back into his seat.

“Just because you and Father are in a romantic entanglement does not mean you need to socialize with me,” Damian said imperiously.

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t,” Hal said.

“That settles it; Pennyworth, turn around.” Damian looked conflicted: disappointment and relief were warring on his face, and the only reason Hal could tell was because he looked just like Bruce when he was feeling the same way.

Hal laughed. “No way. You think I’m giving up the box at a weekend game just because we’ve cleared up that I’m not obligated to hang out with you?”

Damian narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

“So, who’d you steal the duds from?” Hal said, groping for a new conversational topic.

“My clothing?” Damian asked, feigning confusion. Hal could tell it was fake because of the way Damian actually intoned the question part of his sentence.

“Yeah, your clothes. Your shirt’s too big and that hat is about 12 years old, judging by the insignia, and since you weren’t even born then, let alone here in Gotham to support our local triple-A baseball club, obviously you got it from someone else.” Hal wondered if it had been Tim or Nightwing--Dick?--who Alfred had stolen from.

“Triple... A.” Damian said firmly enough that Hal knew he was hiding a question.

Hal grinned, and spent the rest of the drive explaining the critical role the minors played in prepping players for Major League ball, and Damian dropped all pretense at indifference after only a few moments, so he got to see unfiltered reactions on a Wayne’s face and it was…

Pretty stellar, actually.

Hal bought them hotdogs and nachos, and the kid spent the entire game fluctuating between feigned indifference, acidic superciliousness, and the briefest glimpses of genuine enjoyment, which of course got put up on the board for everyone in the entire stadium to see.

Hal laughed.

***

That night, Bruce was a little rougher than he’d been since the very first days of their… romantic entanglement, and Hal leaned in to every touch, and afterwards pressed fingers to aching bruises and grinned at Bruce, who was staring broodingly at the ceiling.

“I’m considering enrolling him in school,” Bruce said, apropos of nothing, and then he _watched_ Hal, so Hal knew he had to answer but couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what the answer _was_.

“Kids his own age…” Hal began, trailing off when he realized he didn't know where he was going with that.

Bruce winced. “Yes, that is a concern.”

Hal considered arguing and trying to explain that he thought maybe that was a _good_ thing, but in the end, he didn’t. Damian wasn’t his kid, and Bruce was a stubborn asshole on a good day; there wasn’t any point to it.

Bruce never settled back down, and Hal wasn’t surprised to feel him leave in the early hours of the morning. Batman was a lot better at processing things than Bruce Wayne was.

***

The next morning, Hal met Damian over breakfast and watched the kid eat.

“No meat?” he asked, wondering if it would be rude to grab some bacon since the kid obviously wasn’t going to.

“No,” Damian replied, but didn’t offer any explanation.

Hal cleared his throat, trying to remember what his mom had done on mornings they could eat breakfast together, and asked, tentatively, “What are your plans for the day?”

“Well,” Damian said, politely swallowing his food before continuing, a motion that revealed the permanent scowl for the lie it was. “I think I’ve found a lead in the Caronelli case, and I was going to see what I could uncover about my informant to make sure the information is good. Father went out alone last night, so I should have much of the morning to myself. Then I was planning on spending the afternoon training.”

Hal blinked.

“Okay, but, what about the movies? Or… laser tag! Laser tag is fun.”

“I have a lead,” Damian explained patiently. “I should follow up.”

“Nah, you can work on it another time. I’m only on-planet another 18 hours, and your dad is wasting it sleeping. Come on, call up your friends, I’ll grab Bruce’s credit card. It’ll be great!” Hal was, at this point, not sure how much of his enthusiasm was genuine. The game yesterday had been pretty fun, and he figured there were worse things he could be doing. Like trying to wake up a sleeping Batman. A bunch of ten-year-olds was way less fraught.

“Friends?” Damian asked, and he frowned, poking at the tablecloth.

“Or, I don’t know. People you tolerate the presence of?” God, the Bats and their aversion to admitting interpersonal information.

“Grayson is on a mission, and Father is asleep,” Damian offered tentatively. “We could phone… Batgirl?”

“Batgirl?” Hal echoed. “She’s… okay, that’s family, and family’s great and all, but I meant people you… hang out with.”

“Batgirl and I sometimes sit on the roof together when she wants to irritate Father,” Damian said.

“Okay, so, but how’s this: kids _your_ age?” Hal tried. He wasn’t sure that there was any fruit to be had, here, but he was starting to feel sorry for this… this _mini-Bruce_ , and he was pretty sure that was indicative of how completely over his head he was with that relationship, because damn, nothing said domestic like bonding with your boyfriend’s _kids_.

Damian scowled up at him. “I won’t associate with Drake’s collection of strays and idiots,” he hissed.

“Drake’s…. oh. The Teen Titans." Hal barely suppressed his wince. He'd heard how that had gone. _Everyone_ had heard how that had gone. "Okay, so, here’s the deal: your dad’s probably gonna send you to school, and you’re going to meet new people, there, people who'll be your friend whether you like it or not, and then, next time I’m planetside, you and I will take them to a game or something. In the meantime, we’re doing the laser tag thing, because I bet I can kick your _butt_.”

“Unlikely,” Damian said with a scoff.

***

Hal definitely did _not_ kick the child assassin’s ass at laser tag, but he did hold his own without using the ring (much).

They got ice cream, afterwards, and that had drawn a genuine smile from Damian, who had crowded close to taste every one of the six flavors Hal had gotten scooped into his enormous waffle cone. Damian, of course, refused to share his, but Hal was used to that.

They exploded back into the kitchen while Hal was in the middle of describing a finer point of strategy on a mission he'd flown years ago.

“And then, okay, he goes ‘I got this!’ right?” Hal said. “Hey, Bruce,” he interrupted himself, dipping in for a quick kiss and finding himself in a painful hold face down on the table.

If he could move his shoulders, he’d shrug. Some days, Bruce had inexplicable reactions. Like once, out of nowhere, Bruce had flown him to Paris and fucked him in the airplane until he couldn’t speak. It was an exciting relationship, and that didn’t even count the whole _Batman_ thing.

“What. Is. This.” Bruce demanded.

“Father!” Damian snapped. “What is the meaning of this!”

Hal laughed into the wood. Bruce let him go and rubbed apologies into Hal’s shoulders, and once Hal straightened up, gave him the kiss he’d denied earlier, with interest. Hal really enjoyed kissing Bruce, so he got a little more into it than was probably appropriate with Bruce’s son in the room.

“Oh,” Damian said. “If this is some sort of sexual pseudo-conquest, I’ll take my lunch in my room.” There wasn’t a sound to indicate his departure, but Hal knew he’d gone.

“Okay,” Hal said, disentangling himself. “What the hell?”

“I--” Bruce began, then sighed. “He likes you.”

“He’s a good kid,” Hal said, because that was the sort of thing you said after hanging out with your boyfriend’s son, he was pretty sure. That, and lie about how much ice cream they’d had.

“No, he isn’t,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, so, what’s with that? I mean, he’s your _son_ , he’s basically you except ten, and he lives and breathes crime fighting. Can you believe he wanted to research a case instead of laser tag? By the way, I took your kid out to laser tag, hope that’s cool.” Hal grinned. "I won."

Bruce didn't even acknowledge the blatant lie with a snort. “He’s not a good _kid_ ,” Bruce said, and he sounded tired, so Hal made him sit down and then sat down on the table in front of him.

“No, I’m seeing that. That I am getting. But-- What’s really up?” Hal frowned, trying to parse what was going on from Bruce’s body language and failing.

“He _likes_ you,” Bruce repeated.

Hal stared at him, then. “Oh,” he said. “You’re jealous? It’s… you should know that every fourth word out of that kid’s mouth is “Father”. ‘Well Father thinks’ this and ‘Father informs me’ that. He adores you. His sun rises and sets by you.”

“You like _him_ ,” Bruce said in a tone that nearly passed as vulnerable.

“Well, yeah. I like _you_ , you asshole, and he’s all Wayne,” Hal said, trying to smile reassuringly at a man who wouldn’t make eye contact with him. Harder than one might think, really.

“A lot of people would disagree with you,” Bruce protested.

“A lot of people are fucking morons,” Hal said. Bruce quirked a tiny smile at him, and Hal shook his head.

“I’ve only got 12 hours left. You’d better make them worth it. Who knows, I might break up with you for a really stupid reason and take your kid with me if you don’t.”

Bruce shook his head, but he reached up and tangled his fingers in Hal’s hair, drawing him down for another kiss.

“Not in the kitchen, Master Bruce!” Alfred called out in tones that sounded more resigned than scandalized, and Hal laughed.


End file.
